In my fantasy prone mind
our discreet cuddle in the dark
was as momentous as honey moon kisses.
You were barred from seeing boys.
Knocking on your door
would have been like a car thief
dropping in for afternoon tea at the police station,
to have a yarn about that joy ride,
in a patrol car,
he’s pencilled into his diary.
Common sense was called cowardice.
The evening before I finally visited,
I was as manic
as a coffee bean mulching cattle dog.
The moment dawn broke I leapt from bed
as though I were springing from a hot plate.
My mind was flying
like a falcon on amphetamines,
but I was in control, or so I thought.
Your reverberating house said otherwise.
The romantic fantasies faded
at the pace of continental drift.
I wished for the rebirth of our friendship,
until I realised such hopes were more absurd
than poison dart spitting bilbies
piloting purring sting rays,
in a bid to defeat the Spanish Armada.
I imagine you saying ‘never mind,
you only hit brick walls and tree trunks.
That saga thrust into our letterbox,
depicting you as the reincarnation
of an ancient Egyptian Crocodile Man
and the leader of an outlaw pogo stick gang,
in the same story, was a bizarre quest for glory.
The plot was as elusive as you were intrusive
but you were only fourteen, so forget it.’
If I wrote to you seeking forgiveness
would you be as cold as an ice age,
deleting me with all the sentimentality of a crevasse?
Either way I’ll still fondly remember
the girl I once shared my innermost secrets with.
She spoke of Orion and crocodiles,
as I showered in her nectar smiles.
My love was never quite requited
but I was as oblivious as delighted.
Soon I believed unquestioningly
that we were each other’s destiny.
A quarter of a century has elapsed
since those naive dreams collapsed.